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THE SOUL'S PASSING.
Runs no more the circling river,
Hope not answer to your praying!
Cold, responseless lies she there: Death, that ever will be slaying
Something gentle, something fair, Came with numbers soft as slumbersShe is with him otherwhere!
Mother! yes, you scarce would chide her
Earthly father! weep not o'er her!
To another Father's breast,
Friend! he was a friend that found her
Lover! yes, she loved thee dearly!
When she left thee loved thee best! Love, she knew, alone burns clearly
In the bosoms of the blest; Love she bore thee, watches o'er thee, Is the angel in thy breast!
Mourners all! have done with weeping!
When he came and found her sleeping;
"Wend with me across the river,
Seems so bitter, is so sweet; On whose other shore forever
Happy, holy spirits greet; Grief all over, friend and lover In a sweet communion meet
"It is better, father, mother,
Lover, friend, to leave behind;
Perfect love and perfect mind.
"Love that is to mortals given
Struggles with imperfect will; Love alone that homes in heaven Can its perfect self fulfill; Where possessing every blessing,
Still it grows and greatens still!
THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. 419
"See, I bring thee wings to bear thee,
Dear ones dead forever near thee,
"O'er the river!" Lo! she faltered,
While he took her by the hand; And her blessed face grew altered As she heard the sweet command. Father lover! all was over!
So she passed to Spirit-Land!
CHARLES H. HITCHINGS.
The Dying Christain to his Soul.
VITAL spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, O quit, this mortal frame !
Hark! they whisper: angels say,
The world recedes-it disappears;
O Grave! where is thy victory?
Farewell Life, Welcome Life.
Life! My senses swim,
And the world is growing dim;
Welcome Life! the spirit strives!
LIFE! we've been long together,
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear; Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear;
Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time;
Say not Good-Night, but in some brighter clime
ANNA LETITIA BARBAuld.
PALMS OF GLORY.
Palms of Glory.
ALMS of glory, raiment bright, Crowns that never fade away, Gird and deck the saints in light,
Priests, and kings, and conquerors they.
Yet the conquerors bring their palms
Victory through his cross alone!
Kings their crowns for harps resign, Crying as they strike the chords, "Take the kingdom-it is thine:
King of kings, and Lord of lords !" Round the altar priests confess,
If their robes are white as snow, 'T was the Saviour's righteousness,
And his blood that made them so.
Who were these ?-On earth they dwelt,
But were saved from all by grace.
Ah! when we like them shall die,
Triumph, reign, and shine on high!